


Is just you and me my love. The world can wait until tomorrow.

by ArtisanGriffinKane



Series: All My Demons Are Greeting Me [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 5.02, F/M, Kabby, Pandora's Box, kabby kiss, kabby moment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 19:43:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14722410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtisanGriffinKane/pseuds/ArtisanGriffinKane
Summary: A little missing Kabby kiss, set during 5.02 (right before Octavia's speech)





	Is just you and me my love. The world can wait until tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a request I received on Twitter. Is not that long I know, but it's been a while since my last work, I missed writing I gotta say it, so I am happy I could fill this prompt. This is teasing my Kabby mind, I feel the need to write more, so I probably will. Feel free to ask me for something, I'll might be able to write something more till the right idea will come at me.

 

The room was dark and cold, a lonely lamp was buzzing on the shelf beside his bed. An old consumed book of poems was resting on the pillow, a piece of yellowish paper was secured in the middle of it, marking the last page he had read, or had pretended to.

 

The silence that had descended in the bunker after Octavia and the grounders had taken Kara and the others away, was suffocating. Marcus' room had been the most reasonable place where they could hide, especially after Thelonious' death.

 

So many things had happened in the span of few hours, so many that it was hard to recollect them all. They felt tired and defeated. It was as if every kind of progress they had managed to make in those months, had simply vanished.

 

The more they seemed to get closer to a solution, the more everything seemed to collapse a little more. As if by taking away a problem, was as taking away a brick from a wall, the more you take, the more the wall trembles, until it will eventually brake. And both Marcus and Abby were feeling as if they couldn't do it anymore. As if their strengths had been drained completely. They weren't that strong, not anymore.

 

He was sitting on his bed, his hands cupped on his lap, his eyes focused absentmindedly on the tip of Abby's boots. She was standing in front of his closed door. They had walked there together, it was the first time she was in his room, the first time in more than a month.

 

She had kept avoiding him since the first day, when he had decided to _take away her choice,_ and now it felt almost surreal to be in the same room, he sitting on his bed, she standing few feet from him, her eyes foggy and empty, dark and tired.

 

He wanted to say something, to ask her how she felt, if she needed something. He wanted to clean the blood from her hands. She had pushed on Thelonious' wound with such strength when they had been taken to him. Her eyes scanning his injured skin and muscles with frantic care, her mind had been trying to find a solution for a while, until she had realized that there was nothing she could do to help him. She had looked so powerless.

 

Marcus had realized himself that Thelonious was going to die, that they couldn't save him.

 

_You can't fix me this time Abby._

 

And they all knew that it was true. But this didn't make it any easier. Watching life dissipating from his tired eyes had been painful. No matter how many battles they had fought together or one against the other, no matter how many things had happened and had changed since they had landed on the ground, Thelonious was still part of their life. And in that moment he was just their old friend, their old chancellor, and they were simply Marcus and Abby, watching their childhood friend die.

 

They had buried so many people since their first day on earth, so many bodies had been covered in soil and had been left behind, so many souls had flew into space, leaving behind their beloved, their friends and family. And yet, right when they thought nothing could harm them anymore, that nothing worse could come their way, they discovered how easy it still was for them to brake and feel pain.

 

And so they had said goodbye to another friend, they had witnessed another death, and they had stood there, powerless. And then, when Octavia had been escorted away from Indra, Marcus had helped Abby on her feet. Jackson had shared with him a quiet look, asking him to take care of her, as if he wasn't strong enough to do that himself. Abby was still looking at Thelonious' body, her tears were silent and slow, lazily rolling down her pale cheeks. He had said nothing, while walking away with her, forcing her to advert her gaze from his dead body.

 

She had kept quiet herself, and had followed him, leaning from time to time on his shoulder. Her light weight felt familiar, his own skin melted at the contact with her... and yet it had been heartbreaking. Feeling her powerless at his side, weak and heavy, her empty eyes focused on nothing in particular, her hands slightly trembling at her sides, crimson red blood shimmering upon her skin, trapped under her nails. She looked like the ghost of herself, and it was scary.

 

They had entered his room without sharing a word then, and had parted in silence.

 

He looked up at her, she was wrapping herself tightly in a defensive embrace since he had locked the door at her back, her eyes were shimmering with the ghost of tears, her lips were tight and she was chewing at the inside of her cheek. Her muscles so tensed that he felt pain for her, she didn't look good, she looked lost.

 

He stood up, and swallowed, searching for her eyes, but she didn't seem to register his movement. He blinked and cleared his throat then, and that attracted her attention, she finally looked at him. Her expression didn't change at first, she kept staring at him with the same defeated and foggy look she had been wearing since they had left Thelonious at their backs.

 

Marcus swallowed again, feeling powerless. “Abby...” he whispered, not trusting his voice too much, her name would do. She swallowed and her hands squeezed her arms, then her features squirmed, her chin started to tremble, her eyes shimmered in the dim light with incoming tears and without warning, she strode toward him.

 

When her body crashed against his, Marcus didn't protest, she gripped at him fiercely, her whole body seemed to glue itself at him, and she pressed her face against his shoulder. At first he stood still without moving a muscle, not knowing if he was allowed to touch her, but then his arms enveloped her tiny frame, and he felt her shiver, she was crying.

 

He held her there in silence, nuzzling in the crook of her neck, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. She smelled as sweat and blood, but there somewhere, he could still sense the unique scent of her hair and her skin, it was there, he just couldn't define it. His muscles recalled almost immediately how she felt between his arms, and he lingered into that moment, it had been so long since their last embrace, so long since their last contact, too long for him to not feel overwhelmed by it.

 

“I'm so sorry.” she whispered suddenly, her voice thick, rough, muffled by the fabric of his shirt. “I'm so sorry Marcus.” she sobbed again, and he clenched his jaw, his arms squeezed her tighter against his chest, she followed suit, her hands digging almost painfully at the skin of his back. She was shaking, and felt thinner than usual, had she always been this tiny? Had she always felt this small in his arms? This weak?

 

“It's ok Abby, is gonna be ok.” he whispered in her hair, trying to find confidence in his own words. Abby sniffed loudly, he could sense her tears wetting his shirt, it was braking him into pieces. “We are gonna be ok.”

 

 _Together._ He wanted to add. _Together we can do this._ But he restrained himself from saying anything more, he didn't want to brake the _spell_ that had brought her back to him. Even if it felt as if it always took a death or an incoming threat to their life to bring them back together.

 

He was so tired of surviving, he was so tired of seeing her like this. She had been always the light out of the dark for him, and many more. But then, every battle, every threat, every disaster that had happened since they had landed, had been trying to shut off that light. How many times had he seen her fighting against that force? Crawling back out from the rubble that had crashed upon her? Finding always another way to escape the demons, the sadness, the pain. Running away from them, focusing on the good things, the good people, to shut the horror outside.

 

She had fought so hard, and she still couldn't define her as a fighter, she thought so little about herself. And yet, she was a fighter, a survivor just like everybody else. The only thing was that now, her light had been shut off. Abby wasn't the same woman that had held his hand while descending on earth, months ago.

 

She wasn't the same mother in search of her daughter, the same doctor fighting with all of her strength to save everybody, she wasn't the same Chancellor that he had asked her to be, nor the same woman that had saved him, many times, literally and in words and gestures, showing him the way out of the dark. She wasn't his Abby anymore.

 

And this was scaring him to death.

 

When she withdrew and started to wipe away some of the tears with the back of her sleeves, Marcus squeezed her shoulders istinctively. She looked up at him, hot tears were shivering into her rich brown eyes, her chin still trembling. She was looking at him, as if somehow, he could do something to help her. Her eyes didn't hold anger toward him now, on the contrary, they held a plead. She needed help.

 

“Let me help you clean those hands.” he whispered, and she simply nodded, a quick gesture that gave him permission to take care of her. _Finally._

 

And so he did, he washed her hands carefully, she didn't look at the blood that started to flow away from her skin to the sink, and he tried to be as careful and as fast as he could. He washed away that blood as if like that he could defeat the demons that were insinuating themselves in her mind and heart. Because he knew that they were there. He knew that look she was wearing, he had been there too, he knew how she was feeling, and this was consuming him just as it was consuming her.

 

He had always thought at Abby as a strong woman, able to fight her own battles without failing, always one step forward, always able to stand up again and keep fighting.

 

But this time it was different. This time too many things had happened, to many times she had fallen, and had started to brake beyond repairable. Clarke wasn't there once again, the world had ended _once again_ , she had to take lives for the greater good, her moral compass had broke at some point, and she was lost now. She was lost and he was afraid she wasn't going to come back this time.

 

She didn't know where she was going or where she was standing, where she had been though was clear to her. He knew that she blamed herself, for so many things, even things she had never done, things she couldn't be blamed for. But when you are blaming yourself, is so easy to lose the way, and start carrying the weight of choices you never actually made, and you simply lose control over it.

 

Abby was losing control over it, she was losing the battle this time. Her demons were winning, this time the way out of the dark was too hard to find.

 

When her hands were finally clean, he turned off the water. She was staring at the sink with hollow eyes and was quiet, breathing heavily. He looked at her blouse, it was dirty, with blood, sweat, dust. He made her turn, so she was facing him, and helped her out of it without saying a word.

 

She didn't protest, and slipped out of it in silence, then looked at him. Her eyes were dark and heavy, and the skin under them was red, she had been crying a lot, she looked so tired. He thought that she probably hadn't slept in a long time, and she looked like she could use some more food. She had always been skinny, but this... this wasn't skinny, this looked like she had been starving, on purpose. He felt sick to his stomach again.

 

_What have you put yourself through Abby?_

 

“I'm sorry.” she whispered again, her hands had found a place on the hem of his shirt, she was gripping softly at it, looking him straight in the eyes. He said nothing, and just shook his head.

 

 _Don't be sorry._ He wanted to say, over and over again.

 

She started to push his own shirt off, and he obliged her. When it fell on the floor, her eyes followed it, then she swallowed and closed them shut.

 

“What will happen now?” she whispered, looking back at him. Her question hanged heavily in the air between them. He knew that she meant many things with that question, she was asking not just for them as _Wonkru,_ she was asking herself and him where they were going as a couple, where she was going as a woman, a doctor, a mother. What was going to happen, was a really open and hard question to answer to. 

 

“We will find a way to survive this. We always do.” he said, nodding lazily, biting at his lower lip. It was always about just surviving, just pushing through another day, it was all about still breathing at the end of the night, nothing more than that. Abby nodded, sighing out and closing her eyes again, then she grimaced and her hands flew to her temples.

 

“Does it hurt?” he asked immediately, knowing what that gesture meant. He had seen her doing it so many times, resting her head on her hands while grimacing, and searching for the bottle of pills in her bag, swallowing down one after the other, whenever the pain showed itself again. Abby swallowed and huffed.

 

“Yes. It hurts.” she said, while her fingers were circling on her temples, trying to soothe the pain with slow and lazy movements. Marcus wanted to help her, to do something. He knew that she needed her pills, he knew she had been taking them since the ice bath they had performed on her, to save her life.

 

He knew where he could find them, her bag had been left in the cafeteria, it would take him few minutes to go there, take the pills, give them to her. That would have helped. And yet, he had talked with Jackson, he knew that she wasn't supposed to have headaches anymore. She wasn't supposed to keep taking those pills.

 

She was supposed to feel better by now. _Why wasn't she feeling better?_

 

“Abby...” he whispered, when she kept torturing her temples, and her arms had started to shake, while she breathed in heavily, exhaling and inhaling as if, like that, she could somehow make the pain go away.

 

He wish she could. Seeing her like that was consuming him.

 

“Abby...” he whispered again, and rested a hand on her bare shoulder. She was sweating, her skin was wet and slightly sticky. Her whole body was reacting at her pain, her muscles were tensing under her skin, her features squeezing in discomfort, her chest raising and falling with effort.

 

She said nothing and sighed out, heavily. He forced her to face him again, and took her hands with his, forcing them away from her temples. She looked at him with trembling eyes, he could see how tired she was of feeling this _weak_. It was frustrating to witness that, without being able to help her in any way, to help her feel better, permanently.

 

 _You know how you could have done that._ His mind flashed him memories of the day she had asked him to sacrifice her. To drag her out of that bunker, to let her die in the praimfaya. But how could he have done such a thing? How could she thought that he would have been able to?

 

_How can you let the love of your life die?_

 

He kept staring at her, as if her eyes held the answers to his questions, but she was just looking at him in pain, and his stomach twisted upside down. It took a great effort for him to not cry himself, he had to be strong, he had to.

 

_He wasn't, but he had to try, for her._

 

Then he started stroking her cheeks, just as he had done while they were handcuffed together, while he had been confessing her, once again his unconditioned love, explaining why he hadn't been able to satisfy her request.

 

_Why he had taken away her choice._

 

She relaxed, once again, her features melted under his soft touch, and his heart squeezed in his chest. Sweat prickling at her forehead, she leaned toward him, her hands back on his sides, skin to skin, she was warm, almost hot.

 

_Was she feverish?_

 

He kept looking at her, his soothing and familiar gesture never stopped. Until she opened her eyes again, and her hands found their place on his fingers.

 

She said nothing, she didn't need to, they had been always good at _talking_ without saying a single word. And right now, no matter how long she had been avoiding him, things were exactly the same, they were still the same. Her eyes were sinking into his, and he let her come inside of him once again, he let her take all of him. When she closed the gap between them eventually, slowly and quietly, he didn't protest, his eyes closed in anticipation, his head bowed, she lift herself on her tiptoes, and then finally their lips met.

 

After so long, it felt as coming back home, even if just for a fraction of a second, Marcus felt as if he had anchored to his safe harbor again. Time slowed down, and his mind fell silent. Her lips were still able to drag all the oxygen out of his lungs, to make him feel weak on his legs. Abby pushed herself slowly toward him, her arms found a place around his neck, her fingers were digging almost painfully into his hair now. He didn't care, he wanted to feel all.

 

He wrapped his arms _possessively_ around her. They were flash against flash now, her sweaty chest pressed against his own, skin to skin, their hearts were beating frantically. He felt as if this was his last chance to have her this close, he was feeling desperate to feel her, to have her in his arms. He knew that if he could, he would never part from her.

 

Their kiss wasn't meant to be passionate, they weren't promising each other nothing for the incoming night. But it was vibrating as a silent and fervent exchange of apologies.

 

_I am sorry for what I have done._

 

_I am sorry if I wasn't able to let you die._

 

_I am sorry if I couldn't forgive you._

 

_I'm sorry to not be strong enough to let you go._

 

_I'm sorry. I'm desperately sorry._

 

Her lips were salty and drier than usual, but she still felt soft and warm, she still tasted as Abby, somewhere, somehow, she was still there. In the way her body fitted perfectly against his, in the way her tongue darted out to meet with his own. She was still his Abby, in that moment she was the woman he loved, as he remembered her. She was still the same strong, hopeful, beautiful, passionate woman he had fallen in love with many and many years ago. Even before earth, and Marcus thought, that deeply inside of her, Abby was aware of that.

 

Her hands were swimming between his locks in a confused dance, she gripped and pulled with something that felt more as _fear_ than _anger._ Her breath was heavy, low sighs started to free themselves from her lungs, she was sucking at his bottom lip with fierce. She was pouring into him so many emotions, a storm of feelings pressed and marked on his lips. She felt thirsty for him, in a way that he had never witnessed. It wasn't passion or desire, she wasn't searching for sex, she was searching for relief, for her heart, her mind, her soul. She was lost, and he was the only thing she had left, she had nothing else right now. He was her only certainty, and she had pushed him away for so long... she wanted to come back home, she desperately wanted to. But it was so hard, and she was so tired.

 

He was squeezing her so tightly that for a moment he feared he could brake her. But she was strongly anchored at him, pulsing with life under his touch, she wasn't going to brake, not now.

 

 _Not ever_... he prayed.

 

They kept kissing without saying a word for an indefinite amount of time. When they parted for air, and their foreheads met, they both had their eyes closed. Breathing into each other again after so long, felt oddly familiar. Marcus' heart was heavy in his chest, carrying so much love and so much regret at the same time. Abby's hands had loosened their grip on his locks, she was stroking his forehead with hers slowly, her thumb at some point started to circle lazily on his beard.

 

“I love you.” she murmured, and when he opened his eyes, he saw her looking at him. He withdrew slowly, and cupped her cheeks.

 

“I love you too.” his voice was braking, tears were prickling with strength at his eyes, but he didn't want to cry, he couldn't. Abby smiled, a sad and tired smile.

 

“I'm really sorry Marcus.” she whispered again. He shook his head and swallowed.

 

“Don't be.” at his words she tilted her head to the side, and stroked away a wild lock from his forehead, a gesture so familiar, that for a moment Marcus feared his heart would catch fire and explode.

 

_She had missed her._

 

“I've missed you.” she whispered, while her eyes kept traveling over his features. Marcus' heart dropped heavily.

 

“I've missed you too Abby.” he was nodding now, looking her in the eyes, and how true that statement was. He had missed her with every fiber of his being. He had missed her, as if that day he had actually dragged her out, to let her die in the praimfaya. It had been so painful, to see her breathing around him. She didn't look alive though, she looked more like someone who was just surviving another day. Abby chewed at the inside of her cheek and smiled weakly, saying nothing.

 

Her hands cupped his cheeks, and her eyes kept trembling over his features, she was smiling softly to herself now. Then she closed her eyes and sighed out, her hot breath teased the tip of his nose. Their foreheads met, and silence descended again over the both of them.

 

They didn't say a single word after that, they remained in that moment as long as they could. Enjoying the silence around them, the unspoken words that they knew they had to share, sooner than later, were hanging heavily from their tongues.

 

They had to talk about many things. Abby's headaches, the future of Wonkru, Octavia as their leader, Thelonious' death, the fact that they couldn't get out of the bunker. Everything had to be discussed at some point, they were really aware of that.

 

But for the moment, here where just the sound of their breaths echoed, here where they were just Marcus and Abby, and there weren't demons creeping at them, here they kept quiet.

 

Here they enjoyed each other, in that portion of time where they were allowed to simply be in love, to find each other again.

 

Every other problem, and how many were coming their way, could wait until tomorrow.

 


End file.
